


The Halloween Heist

by GiftsofGab



Category: PAYDAY (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Halloween, Heist, Humor, Light-Hearted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-27 07:54:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5040220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiftsofGab/pseuds/GiftsofGab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gang receives a request to obtain some files from an FBI higher-up- on the night of his Halloween party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Got a Job For Ya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work was written before the introduction of Rust, Sydney, Jimmy, or the new safehouse. It takes place at the old one and in 2015.

On October 20, several members of the Payday Gang relaxed at the safehouse, enjoying the autumn breeze which blew through the many broken windows. All with their blazers hanging on a coat rack, they had rolled-up sleeves as they did various activities and enjoyed their day off. The day before, they had completed a flawless bank heist, so on this day, they reveled in their success.

Chains and Houston were in the kitchen area, trying to fix the sink. Houston was half inside a cabinet on his back and Chains loomed overhead. “Okay, try it now,” said Houston, trying to seal the pipes beneath the sink.

Chains turned the faucet and let water spill down the pipes. He shut it off, then asked if Houston’s attempt had worked. Houston crawled from the cabinet and scrambled to his feet. He was covered in water, his skin showing through his white button-up shirt.

Wolf was across the room, smoking on an old couch with Hoxton. He choked back laughs at the sight of Houston. Hoxton looked up from his magazine and smiled. “Wooo! Any other contenders for the wet tee-shirt contest?” He whistled.

Houston rolled his eyes and dried off with a dish rag Chains had handed him.

The floor suddenly slid open beside the Lady Justice statue at the center of the mainroom. Dallas and Sokol tramped up the metal steps from the basement and stepped onto the main floor. “I think those new drill upgrades are going to work great,” said Dallas to his Russian partner. Wolf’s ears perked up. As the technician of the crew, he was excited to add a new skill to his repertoire.

“Will the d*mn drills stop breaking now?!” Chains called from the kitchen, handing Houston a wrench.

“Less often,” grinned Sokol. Chains squinted. This was promising, but he knew “those piece of sh*t drills” would still break as per his luck.

The phone on the kitchen counter suddenly rang.

“Back to work, fellas!” Hoxton said excitedly, throwing his magazine on the coffee table and jumping up towards the phone. Everyone gathered around the kitchen counter as Hoxton answered the call and set it to speaker.

“Bain! Miss us already? I thought we’d have a break after yesterday’s job,” Hox said.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head, Hox, you actually get an extended vacation. This job is for the end of the month,” Bain replied.

“What kind of job?” Wolf asked, finishing his cigarette and putting it out in a glass ashtray on the counter.

“I got word that an FBI higher-up has some files that need to mysteriously disappear,” said Bain.

“Where do we come in?” asked Sokol, hoping to get a chance to see his improved drills put to use.

“Instead of sneaking in under the cover of night, there’s going to be a party you can infiltrate instead.”

“Seems risky,” remarked Dallas. “No masks- could be footage of the whole mission.”

“I never said no masks,” replied Bain.

The crew looked at each other in question, but Wolf had a twinkle in his eye as he suddenly burst into a smile and became jittery. He knew what this mission meant. He let out a quick yip of excitement then clapped his hands over his mouth.

“That’s right, Wolf: Halloween night.”


	2. Pre-Planning

“Let me get this straight- some big shot is having a costume party and we’re going to parade around in costume, sneak into his office, and grab these files?” Dallas asked from a metal chair in the safehouse. The gang was gathered around a table with blueprints rolled over it.

“That’s right,” said Bain over Dallas’s cellphone on the table.

“I love it,” Chains smiled deviously.

“I think it’s stupid,” said Houston.

“Then I love it too,” Hoxton chimed, generally opposing whatever Houston’s thoughts were. “Let’s get started.”

Wolf grabbed Hoxton’s shoulders and shook him with excitement. “Ok, so I was thinking we do a group costume- like Mario Kart or mayb-”

“I think he meant with the mission plans, Wolfie,” said Sokol, blowing a ring of smoke into the air over the table.

Wolf’s shoulders dropped.

“I've managed to procure an invitation for us. It should be there somewhere,” Bain said.

Houston shuffled through some papers on a nearby desk and found an orange envelope. He opened it and inside was a tasteful invitation to what seemed like the party of the year. The house front was the invite’s background image, and it was gorgeous. Spiderwebs decorated the columns at the entryway and orange LED lights illuminated the shadows of spooky ghosts in the home’s tall windows. Houston placed the paper on the table at the corner of a blueprint.

“Looks like it can accommodate quite the crowd,” remarked Hoxton. “We should be able to blend in nicely if attendance is good.”

“Get to work, boys. Send me the plans when you’re done,” Bain said before hanging up. Dallas took his phone from the table and placed it in his suit pocket.

“Wait- what even are these files we’re stealing?” asked Houston.

“Bain never said,” replied Chains. “Must be personal, or maybe for a third party.”

“Could be leverage on FBI agent,” suggested Sokol.

The crew took a good few hours around the table to map out their heist. They planned exit strategies and of course worked in a plan B in case things went south. Sokol prepped Wolf on how to operate drills with the new upgrades he developed. They prepared an updated drill for the mission.

The roles were all set. Houston would keep watch downstairs as Dallas, Wolf, and Sokol snuck into the upstairs office. Once there, Dallas would pick through the office door, then the Russian and the Swede would apply the drill to the safe and keep it working as smoothly as possible. Hoxton and Chains would provide muscle if anything went wrong. Once the drills had finished, it was a matter of grabbing the files and bailing.

“Sounds good,” Dallas said, clapping his hands together firmly. “I’ll copy these and send them to Bain.” He reached to scoop up the blueprints, which had directional circles and arrows drawn all over them, and also had Wolf atop them, propped on his elbow, asleep. Dallas pulled the prints away, causing Wolf’s head to fall and hit the table. He shouted in pain as everyone stood from around the table and began leaving the room. Sokol clicked off the light as he left.

“W-wait!” said Wolf, scrambling to his feet and chasing after them from the dark room. As the gang headed up the metal steps out of the basement, Wolf called after them, “What about costumes??”

“Just make sure you cover your face,” Dallas shouted over his shoulder as he climbed the steps out of the basement.

Wolf frowned in the cold and now-empty basement.


	3. Costumes

11 days and several various heists later, the gang members assigned to the Halloween job met back in the safehouse. Hoxton and Dallas were leaning on the kitchen counter, chowing on some fast food before the heist.

“Save room for party snacks,” said Houston, grabbing a root beer from the old fridge behind them.

“We’re not going for the snacks,” said Dallas with his mouth full of fries. “We’re going to work.”

“But what if there’s gingerbread?!” Wolf’s voice echoed. The gang looked all over for him. Chains was seated in the living room and watched as the safehouse basement slid open. Wolf ran up the steps and smiled wildly. “Ta-dahh~!” He was wearing a full sheep costume- a white and fluffy adult onesie with black sleeve caps. The outfit came complete with a cheap plastic mask.

“Get it, Chains?” he asked the heister nearest to him.

Chains smiled in pity. “I get it.”

“Get it, guys?” Wolf called to the men in the kitchen.

“We get it, Wolf,” said Dallas, wiping some ketchup from his mouth.

“Where did you get that?” Houston asked Wolf, sickened by the getup.

“Snagged it from the costume shop when we crashed the mall for Vlad last week,” Wolf grinned and posed as if he were quite proud of the costume. Houston made a disgusted face as he swallowed a gulp of root beer.

“Well, let’s see what you got, sunshine!” Wolf retorted.

Houston grinned deviously and walked to the cot area. He pulled a box from under his bed, back turned to the others, and placed a thin black mask and hat on. He then threw a black cape over his shoulders, then pulled a sword from the box as he spun around to show off his attire.

“Pfftt,” Wolf chortled behind his mask. “What is that? A sad pirate?”

“C’mon, man, it’s Zorro,” Houston said, losing his confident stance.

“Who?”

“He’s very famous in America, okay?!” Houston barked, moving to get into Wolf’s face.

“Sokol’s turn!” the Russian called from the storage closet at the back of the kitchen. The young heister poked his head into the room. He was wearing a raptor mask.

“You’re just using one of the masks from downstairs? That’s boring,” whined Wolf.

“Not if you add,” Sokol began, then jumped out of the storage room entirely. “Footy pajamas!!” he exclaimed, striking a pose with his fists on his hips. He too was wearing an adult-sized pajama set, this one resembling a colorful dinosaur. It had a long spiked tail that dragged on the floor behind him. Wolf shouted in excitement and ran over to Sokol. “Nice!” he exclaimed, high-fiving his friend.

“When you children are finished, Chains and I can show you what real Halloween costumes are supposed to look like,” said Hoxton, crumpling up his cheeseburger wrapper and tossing it over his shoulder into the trash.

“Think they can handle it?” said Chains from the sofa. He stood and walked to the storage closet and Hoxton followed saying, “Not sure. Prepare your souls, kiddies.”

After a few minutes the storage room door swung open. Out stumbled Chains, but he fell onto the kitchen tile. The others could not see his face, but he was wearing no costume. When he looked up, the gang saw his face was half-missing, including a deep eye socket gushing sticky blood. “Help meeee,” he cried, then coughed blood all over the floor.

“For goodness sake,” Dallas rolled his eyes and grabbed some paper towels to clean up the red liquid. As he leaned over the choking Chains, Dallas was attacked by a man wielding a huge knife.

“You’re gonna die, clown!” Hoxton shouted, toppling Dallas to the floor and standing over him with his fake plastic weapon. His face was covered in thick prop blood, masking his identity.

“Holy sh*t, Hox, get off!” Dallas shoved Hoxton’s legs and scrambled to his feet.

“Your turn, mastermind,” said Sokol, lifting his raptor mask.

“I got your Halloween costume right here,” replied Dallas, pulling a mask from the inside of his suit. He bowed his head to put it on, then lifted his face for all to see as they gathered around him.

“Aw, what!” Wolf complained. Dallas was wearing his iconic clown mask with the American flag printed across it.

“Pretty lame, bro,” laughed Houston.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I was kind of busy planning this heist- on top of several other Crime.net contracts,” Dallas retorted with a snarl.

“Man, everyone was all, ‘I don’t care about my costume,’ but they DID, and look at all these cool outfits!” said Wolf very animated. “Except the twerp’s,” he mumbled.

“Hey!” Houston gritted.

“But then there’s you,” Wolf approached Dallas. “You’re such a disappointment.” He shook his head.

“Are you done? We have things to do,” Dallas said coldly behind his mask.

“Think of it this way,” said Chains to Wolf, grabbing a duffel bag from the storage room. "It's a meta costume. That's cool, right?" He headed to the van stashed in the old garage. Wolf shrugged and made a face under the lamb's. The gang shuffled into the back of the van, save for Dallas who would drive. Wolf smiled to himself in the back, excited about most of the costumes he had been presented with, and the prospect of a killer party- and gingerbread.


	4. Enter the Party

“Let’s go, boys,” said Dallas, parking the van at the dead end of a street, a block from the party. Everyone hopped out of the vehicle. Sokol grabbed the duffel bag from the back, and shut the double-doors.

“Everyone have their earpieces in?” asked Chains, whose was under a prosthetic and ripped-up ear.

“Good to go,” said Hoxton. His earpiece was a bit more obvious, but the dripping blood of his assumed victims was oozing over it and would suffice.

The gang headed down the street to the address printed on the invitation. As they neared the home, other guests entered the party in fabulous costumes. Classic Halloween songs blasted beyond the doors. Lights flickered through the windows and the men saw the shadows of party-goers dancing and chatting inside.

They approached the front steps where a large man stood in a nice suit. He crossed his arms and addressed the gang. “Invitation?”

Houston whipped his black cape over his shoulder and pulled the invite from his pocket. “Right here.” He presented it to the apathetic bouncer who glanced over it, then nodded. “Go ahead.”

Houston stepped to move up the steps, but the bouncer put a hand on his chest. “Real sword?”

“Of course- authentic from Mexico!” Houston bragged with a smile.

“Very nice.” The suited man feigned a grin. “I’ll take it then. No real weapons.” He snatched the sword from Houston’s belt and set it to the side of the porch. Houston grumbled and stomped inside, his belt a bit lighter.

As the others moved into the home, Hoxton held up his fake knife and knocked on it, proving it was plastic. The bouncer shrugged and Hoxton laughed nervously and brushed past.

The last to be stopped was Sokol, who was at the back, hoping to hide the duffel bag behind his partners. “What’s in the bag?” the tall and dapper man asked. Sokol sighed and unzipped it. It was filled with thousands of piece of candy.

“Only rude guest would not bring treats to share,” Sokol beamed behind his mask. The bouncer took a piece from the bag, then nodded for Sokol to enter. The Russian zipped up the bag and rushed inside with the others.

The atmosphere was just as they had imagined- there must have been around 200 people in attendance. Some were roaring with laughter in their costumes, some were dancing where the furniture had been cleared in the parlor, and many were holding plates with various snacks. Wolf licked his lips. The front staircase was blocked off by spiderwebs: a clever prop to keep guests from finding the messy master bedroom or using the upper bathrooms. Dallas expected something like this, so they planned to take the second staircase in the kitchen in order to reach the office for the files.

“You two hang out,” Dallas said to Chains and Hoxton. “We’ll call if we need you.”

“Can do,” Hoxton said as his and Chains’ eyes followed a pair of scantily-clad Disney princesses passing them. They trailed after the young ladies into the parlor.

The four others moved through the crowd and into the kitchen. There was a large island with many punches and cocktails, some bubbling fog from dry ice. On the table in the breakfast nook was an array of treats ranging from cheese trays to spookily-decorated cookies. The back porch connected to this room and people came and went freely from games of cornhole and horseshoes in the backyard. The group turned towards the staircase to the second floor. The stairway light was off, discouraging guests from going upstairs. Dallas did not heed this as he looked over his shoulders, then rushed up the steps when he was sure no one would notice. Sokol cautiously followed a moment later.

The top of the stairs opened to a long hallway. At the end of this, they saw the light of the party. There was a balcony overlooking the foyer by the front staircase. They would be sure to avoid this. Sokol and Dallas made their way to a black metal door among the wooden ones in the hallway. “This is it,” Dallas whispered. He tried the handle, but it was locked. “No problem,” he said pulling a lockpicking kit from his inner coat pocket. He got the door open after a moment. "Nice," he grinned. "Now let's drill the safe inside," he said turning around, expecting to see two men. Wolf was not there.

“Where is he?” Dallas hissed in the darkness. Sokol shrugged coolly. Dallas pushed on his earpiece. “Wolf, where are you?” Suddenly, a quiet crash resounded behind him. He turned to see Wolf stumbling up the stairs, slipping on the plush carpet.

“I’m here,” panted Wolf. “Sorry, it’s just…” Each of his hands was holding a paper plate piled with cheeses, fruits, pretzels, and chocolates. Sokol shook his head.

“Just get the drill going,” Dallas said disappointedly.


	5. Lush

Wolf set his plates on the floor and, stuffing a strawberry under his mask and into his mouth, unzipped the duffel bag Sokol had placed down. Inside was a mountain of candies, but as Wolf dug through it, he found a large drill hidden within the pile. He looked around the office and spotted a heavy black safe behind a beautifully-carved desk. He attached the drill and pressed the appropriate buttons to upgrade it according to Sokol’s new additions.

It started up, running quickly and silently. “Should be through in two minutes,” Sokol said confidently, tugging at the collar of his raptor onesie.

Back in the kitchen, Houston dunked a pineapple chunk into the chocolate fountain on the buffet table. He kept an eye on the staircase, making sure no one would move upstairs. As he leaned his elbows on the island, he glanced around at the waves of guests coming and going from the backyard. He was surrounded by dozens of people laughing over cups of punch and admiring each other's costumes. He seethed about his missing sword.

“Hey there, handsome,” said a woman’s voice behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see Cleopatra walking towards him. She was a middle-aged woman, but beautiful. She wore a black wig and lovely Egyptian gown covered with fine jewelry.

“Pour me some punch?” she asked slurred. He could tell she was very drunk. He smiled nervously and turned to the drinks on the island. He made sure to pour her something non-alcoholic. When he turned back to give it to her, she was right upon him, and he spilled the glass all over her.

He gasped. “Holy sh*t, I’m so sorry!” he motioned at her white gown.

“Don’t worry about it,” she smiled, moving nearer to him. He leaned against the counter away from her. He could smell her wretched breath.

“Shouldn’t you be, uh,” Houston choked as she moved closer. “Looking for a Caesar?”

“That would be my husband,” she said with a hiccup. “He’s busy mingling with guests. Tell me, Zorro,” she changed the subject, “what’s a handsome boy like you doing here alone?” She ran a her hand along the side of his head, clicking on his earpiece without noticing.

“Uhh!” Houston shivered and grabbed her hand. “L-let’s slow down, huh? I don’t even know your name.”

The other gang members perked up, suddenly able to hear everything going on in the kitchen over their earpieces.

“Don’t know my name?” she echoed, puzzled. “At my own husband’s party? Surely you recognize the wife of Jameson Whitmore.”

“What on Earth?” Chains whispered to Hoxton as they danced beside the two princesses in the parlor. Hoxton shrugged then continued listening intently as he spun one of the girls around.

Sokol and Wolf exchanged questioning eyes and snickered at the situation, but Dallas put up a hand. “Wait- wait a second. Whitmore…” He pondered the name for a long while. “Monica Whitmore? That skanky cougar the Elephant was shacking up with??”

Sokol laughed. “What?”

Houston and the woman chattered over the earpiece as Dallas explained. “She pressured her husband to give a hefty check to the Elephant during campaign season. That slimy politician must be contracting us for this heist. Maybe he told her too much and needs us to recover her notes, maybe he wants us to dig up leverage for another donation from her husband,” Dallas considered. He clicked on his earpiece. “Houston, keep her talking. We might get some info out of her that our client could find useful.”

Houston understood, but could not reply. He looked around the kitchen nervously as guests shuffled out, uncomfortable with the scene. Most had seen Mrs. Whitmore drunk before, assumed she got around, and thought it best not the get involved with the party’s host. After a moment, Houston and the woman were alone. As Mrs. Whitmore slid her hands onto his chest with a giggle, Houston noticed a figure behind her. A man dressed as dalmatian entered the kitchen from the party area and danced in place. “D*mn bathroom lines,” he muttered. He looked up the steps, then, noticing Houston nor the woman were in a position to protest, he darted up the steps to find a bathroom.

“Incoming!” shouted Houston. Mrs. Whitmore gave him a puzzled look. “Uh, that is, drinks incoming! Let’s down a few together!” he said, grabbing a clean glass from the counter beside him and motioning to the cocktails. “Alright!” the woman cheered. She moved to pour herself a drink, grabbing Houston’s wrist and pulling him to her side.

“Seriously, Hox, Chains, mayday!” he whispered through gritted teeth. He turned towards Mrs. Whitmore and faked laughter as he watched her chug a cup of vodka and fruit punch.


	6. Complication

“Sorry, ladies, we’ll be back!” said Chains over the music, rushing from the parlor. 

Hoxton followed after adding, “Don’t go nowhere,” with a wink. The girls rolled their eyes and noticed a pair of Disney princes across the room eyeing them. They smiled coyly and approached the new set of men.

Chains and Hoxton darted into the mostly-empty kitchen to see Mrs. Whitmore with an arm around Houston. She was laughing hysterically as Houston chuckled nervously. Chains pressed his lips together and shook his head in disappointment at the scene before checking his surroundings and dashing up the steps.

“Wankerrrr,” Hox whispered to Houston with both middle fingers extended. He backed up the stairs after Chains.

At the top of the steps, they noticed the man dressed as a dog. He was looking around nervously whispering, “Gotta pee, gotta pee.”

Chains and Hoxton stood, broad-shouldered, blocking the stairway. The man noticed them standing there as he frantically looked for a restroom. “Oh, hey, guys, you startled me. Nice costumes,” he laughed. “I’m just looking to pee. Is it this room?” He put a hand on the silver handle on the black metal door. It swung open and he saw a clown, a sheep, and a colorful raptor standing beside the black safe, drilling it open.

“Sh*t,” he whispered. He looked from the men in the office to Chains and Hoxton. There was a moment of deep silence as he stared wide-eyed at what stood between him and the steps to the kitchen. His eyes moved to his waist where a walkie-talkie was clipped onto his dalmatian costume. Chains and Hoxton took notice of it. The man was a police officer.

Suddenly, he snatched up the radio and barked into it, “This is officer Rodriguez! We’ve got-!!” He was interrupted by a punch to the throat. Chains decked him and knocked him to the ground. Hoxton kicked the walkie-talkie from his hand and put a heavy foot on his throat.

“Play dead, b*tch,” he said, smiling wildly through a mask of fake blood.

Downstairs, Houston was taking a shot of non-alcoholic punch as Mrs. Whitmore downed a straight shot of Fireball. Hoxton stomped down the steps, dusting his hands together. He had a smug look on his face. He was hoping for a fight, but hardly got a challenge as he tied the officer up and stuffed him in a closet.

Chains followed, saying, “Yeah, nothing to worry about,” over the walkie-talkie, then clipped it to his belt. He clicked on his earpiece and whispered, “Body’s hidden. All clear.”

“Just keep an eye on the steps. It shouldn’t be more than a few second-” Dallas was interrupted by the infamous clunking of a broken drill.

“It’s busted!” said Wolf over his earpiece.

“GAH!!” cried Chains in the kitchen. “I knew this would happen! Stupid piece of sh*t drills!!” He kicked a stool over.

Mrs. Whitmore turned to Chains in shock. Hoxton looked at her nervously. “Uh, cavities,” he said holding up a handful of candy from the buffet table. “Fear of dentists,” he chuckled.

Cleopatra shrugged and turned back to Houston, who was hoping to slip out of her creeping grasp as soon as possible. He was not sure how much more of her flirting he could stand for the sake of the crew.

“I thought you upgraded them!” Wolf said to Sokol.

“I did! I programmed flawlessly. Must have been how you applied upgrades,” Sokol scoffed.

“Don’t pin this on me, pal- you’re the one who had this revolutionary new update!”

"I only said it would break LESS often!"

“Just fix it!” Dallas barked over their bickering and the whirling drill. Wolf grabbed a tool set from the duffel bag and got to work.

Hoxton patted Chains on the back as they rushed from the kitchen and back to the parlor. They looked around for their dance partners. They spotted the two ladies dancing with Prince Charming and Flynn Rider. Hoxton shook his head and walked past them. “Unfaithful,” he muttered. He and Chains stepped through the front door and onto the porch beside the bouncer. They sat in two rocking chairs and lit up a few cigarettes.

“Done!” said Wolf, as the drill stopped clanking and moved fluidly and silently again. “Just a few more seconds and we can bail right after we get our hands on some sweet gingerbread.”

“Isn’t gingerbread Christmas treat?” asked Sokol.

“Don’t you dare limit gingerbread to a single holiday!” Wolf gasped.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Whitmore swayed as she giggled, but her stiletto slipped and she fell into Houston. He caught her up quickly, accidentally grabbing her bottom with one hand. She gave a playful growl and gripped her hand atop his. He rolled his eyes in disgust just before noticing a figure walk in from the backyard. Arms crossed and with a grim sneer, Julius Caesar stood in the doorway.


	7. Gingerbread

When the drill’s screen lit up to notify the drilling had completed, the safe door slowly swung open. Inside, Dallas saw a stack of manilla folders. Atop them was a cheese sandwich with a bite taken out of it.

“Is this a thing now? What is with this??” Dallas asked, throwing the sandwich on the floor. He grabbed the files and handed them to Sokol who placed them within the pile of candy in the duffel bag. Wolf disconnected the drill and hid it in the bag as well. Sokol threw the duffel over his shoulder and the group moved to the door.

As the three exited the office, they were met by a figure looming in the hallway. Wide-eyed, the heisters and the stranger stared at each other the in dim lighting. The figure had a gun pointed at them. “What are you doing in my office?” It was Mr. Whitmore in a toga and laurels. The barrel of his pistol had a flashlight attached to it. He shined the light in their faces and got a good look at Dallas’s mask. “Holy sh*t, the Payday Gang,” he whimpered. He caught a glance of Sokol and Wolf’s animal masks and raised a brow in confusion before turning serious again.

“That’s right,” said Dallas slowly approaching the man with an extended hand. “Let’s have the gun, kid, and we’ll be on our way- no harm done.”

“Get back!” Whitmore said, tightening his grip on the gun. “I finally climbed my way to the top of the ladder- got a nice job at the DC FBI office. They warned me it’d be dangerous work, but I never thought I’d run into the Payday Gang. Wait til the boys hear I apprehended them single-handedly,” he chuckled. “Now on your knees!” he barked.

The heisters looked at each other and were about to comply when Mr. Whitmore suddenly flew forward with a cry, coughing a splurt of blood as the sound of shattering glass filled the corridor.

“THAT’S for breaking my nose, you son of a b*tch!” Houston shouted. He held the broken neck of a vodka bottle in his hand. He had smashed the bottle (which was emptied by Mrs. Whitmore) over the agent’s head. He put a hand over his nose and cringed.

“Let’s go, boys!” Dallas said, rushing past Houston and down the steps.

“Why’d he break your nose?” Wolf laughed as he followed Dallas.

“For grabbing his wife’s a**.”

They passed through the empty kitchen where Mrs. Whitmore was passed out drunk in a chair.

“Don’t blame you,” Sokol said, surveying the woman from head-to-toe and giving Houston a thumbs up.

Several partygoers began creeping into the kitchen to investigate the sound of smashing glass and the absence of their host, but only saw a wasted Cleopatra and 4 masked figures zip out of the room.

Sokol rushed through the living room where people continued to dance and speak loudly over the music. He darted out the front door with Dallas and Houston, duffel bag in tow.

“Not leaving the candy for the party?” the bouncer asked.

“Is very expensive,” Sokol replied. He unzipped the bag and threw the man a handful before bouncing down the steps. The security officer cheered and started collecting the candies he had failed to catch. Chains and Hoxton jumped up from their seats on the porch and ran after their partners towards the van down the street from the palatial home.

At the van, Dallas ripped off his mask and leaped into the driver’s seat. He started the vehicle as Sokol threw the duffel bag with the drill and the files into the back. The others climbed in. “Good to go?” Dallas asked over his shoulder.

“Wait, where the h*ll is Wolf?” asked Chains.

“Bly*t, that idiot!” Sokol cursed and flung open the back doors. He was about to bolt from the van to find Wolf when he looked up to see a figure dashing towards them.

“Wait for me!” Wolf cried. The crew could see that his arms were full of bundles of cookies- Wolf had found gingerbread.

“Atta boy, Wolfie!!” Hoxton cheered while pumping his fist.

“Shut the doors- just shut the f*cking doors and drive,” said Houston, still cosseting his broken nose, shaking his head at Wolf’s antics.

“Come on!” Sokol called, extending an arm out the back doors. Wolf vaulted into the back of the van, spilling some cookies and pieces of the gingerbread haunted houses he had broken up from a display table. Sokol slammed shut the back doors and Dallas promptly took off.


	8. Back at the Safehouse

Back at the safehouse, the duffel bag was set on the coffee table. Sokol was sorting his favorite candies out of it, footie pajamas still on. Wolf was beside him, eating his well-deserved gingerbread which he had twice refused to share with Sokol due to his labeling it strictly as a Christmas treat.

Hoxton and Chains were in the bathroom washing the makeup from their faces and peeling away the prosthetics. Houston was in the bathroom doorway, lamenting the loss of the authentic sword he had forgotten to grab back from the bouncer.

On the landline in the kitchen, Dallas was discussing the heist with his missions operator. “Yeah, we got the files with few complications. Whitmore did discover us, but we escaped before alarms were raised. Smooth sailing- for the most part,” he relayed to Bain. “Any chance you could clue us in as to what’s in these files?”

“Take a look yourself,” replied Bain. “It’s no secret.”

Dallas opened the top manilla folder to see a series of typed documents.

“I got a tip that Whitmore had these locked away. That there’s background information on each and every member of the Payday Gang that Whitmore has dug up over months of extensive research,” explained Bain. “He was planning to show those to the new commissioner, Solomon Garrett, at next month’s Thanksgiving banquet. Garrett would then upload everything to the FBI database and they’d have more info on our personal lives than they already do.”

Dallas held out the files of Sokol and Houston to come grab.

“Wow, this is some extensive stuff,” Houston said, looking over his. “Dallas, they know everything about us…”

The gang leader rubbed his stubbly beard as he glanced at his own file. “I’m glad we got hold of these. If they were publicized, it could mean the end of the Payday Gang.”

“At least they got my good side,” chimed Sokol, admiring the police sketch in his folder.

“Lemme see my file,” Wolf said with a mouthful of baked goods.

Dallas shifted through the paperwork. Bonnie, Chains, Wick, Hoxton...

“Uh, Bain?” he said, phone cradled between his shoulder and ear. “They didn’t get anything on Clover, Wolf, Jacket, or Jiro?”

“According to my inside man, Garrett has dirt on every one of you.”

Dallas set the phone on the counter. “Did you drop any folders, Sokol?”

The Russian looked up from his file, taffy in his cheek. “Not… that I noticed, no.”

“I didn’t see anything in the office,” said Wolf.

Dallas picked up the phone. “Don’t tell me you *ssholes didn’t get all the files!!” Bain scolded.

“Maybe they were in another cabinet or room?” Dallas searched frantically through what papers they had. “Double-check the duffel bag!”

“Did you guys seriously not get everything??” Hoxton called, sticking his head out of the bathroom.

“Good job, fellas,” Bain sighed.

“Sh*t,” Houston whispered. “Well, what the h*ll are we gonna do?”

Dallas pinched the top of his nose and sighed. “Okay,” Dallas said to Bain over the phone. “Yeah. We’ll look into that. Thanks, Bain. We’ll talk in a few weeks,” he said, hanging up the receiver. “Well, boys, we’ve got to get those files before Garrett shares them next month. Looks like we’re going loud this time. We’ve got a Thanksgiving feast to crash.”

Houston shook his head. “Oh, no, I can’t go back there- that woman’s crazy!”

Begruntled, Dallas glanced over at Wolf. “The h*ll you smiling for?”

Wolf beamed ear-to-ear. “Cornbread stuffing!!” he cheered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be fair, I did finish this before Halloween. I just forgot to submit it. Sorry, clowns. A year in the making- here's the final chapter!


End file.
